Our ropes are the roots of our life. We fish low in the earth, the river beneath runs through our veins, blue and cold in a riverbed. When the sun comes up, the moon moves slowly to the left. I tie the logs and limbs together, holding them in place. The ocean beats them smooth like rock. Here my sense of time is flat. I find in a strip of damp sand footprints and marks of hands, and torn pieces of flesh. Night is a beast. The tide moves, gushing back and forth. Sunlight touches our faces, turning us, turning us, turning us in our morning sleep. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY JENNY WI' THE AIRN TEETH by ALEXANDER ANDERSON MAGUS MUIR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN TO MISS KINDER, ON RECEIVING A NOTE DATED FEBRUARY 30TH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LAME SHEPHERD by KATHARINE LEE BATES PSALM 81 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE OUT OF THE SHADOWS: AN UNFINISHED SONNET-SEQUENCE 18 by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER JR. AN HONEST VALENTINE; RETURNED FROM THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK |